


One Track Mind

by sifuhotman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Universe, Character Study - Sakusa Kiyoomi, Established Relationship, Fake/Pretend Break Up, First "I love you", Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mild Sexual Content, Rated M for "Morons", Side Relationship - SunaOsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 22:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: When Osamu and Suna publicly announce the end of their relationship, Atsumu is distraught. Sakusa suspects that Suna and Osamu are lying about it, though he can't imagine why.Whether the breakup is real or not, it kind of kills the mood—especially since Sakusa's finally ready to tell Atsumu that he loves him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 62
Kudos: 418
Collections: SunaOsa





	One Track Mind

**Author's Note:**

> 20 March is Sakusa's birthday so I am gifting him Love, Stupidity, and other fluffy things. Enjoy!

The end of life as Atsumu knows it interrupts Sakusa just as they’re about to go to bed.

“Omi-kun.” There’s an edge of panic that Sakusa pointedly ignores. “Omi. _Omi_. I know you’re awake. Stop fakin’ it.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes and tugs his blanket tighter around him. They’re in his room, and he’s exhausted from another night of practice and attending to his boyfriend. “I’m tired.”

“It’s important.”

“I don’t care. Sleep.”

“ _Kiyoomi_.”

Sakusa sighs and cracks open an eye. He knows that tone. Atsumu uses it like a safeword to communicate that there’s a serious matter at hand—‘serious matters’ that are generally unimportant to everyone except Atsumu.

But Atsumu is his boyfriend, and Sakusa has come to understand that dating someone is more than just hanging out and treating each other to lunch and kissing. So Sakusa rolls on his side, sighs, and asks, “What?”

Atsumu is sitting up beside him. The hair at the back of his head sticks up straight, and there are creases on his cheek from the pillowcase. Sakusa can see this only because Atsumu has his phone shining on his face at maximum brightness despite the fact that all the lights are off. “Omi-kun. Look at this.”

He shoves the towards Sakusa and Sakusa scowls, squeezes his eyes, and swats at Atsumu’s hands. “Miya. Turn down the brightness.”

“Look at it!”

“I _can’t_. You’re burning my retinas.”

“Fine.” Atsumu turns down the brightness of his phone and mutters, “Princess,” as if he’s any better. Sakusa blinks away the splotches of light that stain his vision and focuses. “Read this. I can’t fuckin’ believe this.”

It’s an article from one of those gossip magazines that Sakusa stays away from, and once Sakusa reads the headline, he understands why Atsumu is so bothered.

**EJP Raijin’s Suna Rintarou announces split with renowned onigiri chain founder, Miya Osamu**

“Oh.” Sakusa pauses. He drags a finger down the screen to skim further. “I didn’t know they broke up.”

“Me neither! Why the hell would he not tell me that he and Suna broke up? I’m gonna kill him.” Atsumu pulls the phone back and raises the brightness a little—not as bright as before, but bright enough that Sakusa hisses in discomfort. “That’s the sorta thing you tell yer brother. And Suna shoulda told me too.” Atsumu groans. “I need to call Samu.”

“You do _not_ need to call Osamu.”

“He didn’t tell me, Omi. He tells me everythin’. Shit. I bet he’s upset right now.” Atsumu runs his fingers through his hair, eyebrows pinched. “What do I even say to him? I betcha he’s mopin’ around like he did when he got dumped in high school. Fuck.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Sakusa lifts his head up to fluff his pillow before settling back under the covers and shutting his eyes. His shoulder is crammed against the wall. Sakusa has gotten used to sharing his bed with Atsumu. It doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. “Wait till he talks to you.”

“This is serious. I can’t believe he kept this—”

Sakusa cuts him off. “It can wait until tomorrow.” 

“I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe they broke up.” Atsumu’s voice fades into a whisper as he sinks into the mattress, phone still held above his face. Sakusa hates when he does that. He’s witnessed Atsumu dropping his phone on his forehead way too many times. “This is serious, Omi-kun. This is like if we broke up.”

Sakusa _is_ surprised. He hadn’t realized that Osamu and Suna were having any problems. They were _that couple_ that everyone looks at and talks about with fondness. Both are public figures, so of _course_ people would talk about them.

It’s completely different from how people and the general public perceive Sakusa and Atsumu’s relationship. Most of the time, Sakusa gets comments like: ‘You’re dating _him_?’ Other times, he’ll get comments like: ‘He’s dating _you_?’

It’s not like Sakusa gives a shit about what people think. He’s known Atsumu since their high school days, and they were teammates on the MSBY Black Jackals for a year before they started dating. The transition from teammates to friends to more-than-friends has been surprisingly smooth, despite the fact that they’re still in the first few months of their relationship. They’re happy, so no one else’s opinions matter.

But if there’s a couple who’s even more ‘together’ than Sakusa and Atsumu are, it has to be Osamu and Suna, who have been dating since—well, as long as Sakusa can remember them. Except, apparently, not anymore.

“I just can’t fuckin’ believe this.” The surprise is gone, as is the offended tone Atsumu had before. It’s replaced by disappointment. “Samu and Sunarin are _over_.”

Sakusa sighs. He reaches over and locks Atsumu’s phone with a click, pulling it from Atsumu’s grip and reaching over Atsumu to set it on the nightstand. Atsumu doesn’t protest, but Sakusa doesn’t need the light to see that Atsumu is visibly upset. He feels it when he reaches to tug Atsumu towards him. Atsumu’s shoulders are stiff, and he resists slightly, too caught up in a whirlwind of emotions to respond properly to Sakusa’s physical invitations.

“Text him first thing tomorrow,” Sakusa says. He pulls Atsumu to his chest and wraps his arm around Atsumu’s waist. Atsumu sighs into it, head tilting back to fit under the curve of Sakusa’s chin. He feels warm, like always.

“Oh. I already texted him.” A pause. “Like, ten times.”

Sakusa snorts. “Of course you did.”

“I just—why wouldn’t he tell me? He’s gotta be so upset, y’know? If he ain’t even tellin’ me.”

Perhaps it’s because Sakusa doesn’t have any siblings, but he’s not sure why Atsumu is so upset about this. It’s a breakup. Statistically speaking, most of the couples that will end within the next year or two or ten. Being in a relationship in your rocky twenties is like that, and Sakusa _knows_ that Atsumu knows that.

But still, Sakusa can kind of see why it might be such a shock to Atsumu. There are some relationships—like Sakusa’s and Atsumu’s—that are as unexpected as they are volatile, mostly because Sakusa isn’t afraid to tell it like it is and Atsumu isn’t afraid to react to every minor thing with reckless abandon. And there are some relationships—like Osamu’s and Suna’s—that are a steady anchor despite constantly changing tides.

“I’m sure he’ll talk to you when he wants to,” Sakusa murmurs. He presses his lips to the back of Atsumu’s neck and smells the familiar scent of Atsumu’s shampoo. “Just go to sleep.”

“I dunno if I can even sleep now.” Atsumu, in true dramatic fashion, has taken on the ‘ _woe is me_ ’ tone that he sometimes gets sucked into. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, you can go on not believing it tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“Prickly.”

“Shut up.”

Atsumu laughs quietly. Sakusa closes his eyes after muttering a gentle, “Good night,” and Atsumu sighs and finally relaxes into Sakusa’s embrace.

Sakusa wants to point out that Osamu doesn’t tell Atsumu everything. Osamu didn’t even tell Atsumu when he finally signed the lease to his first Onigiri Miya branch. He’s not like Atsumu in that way, and for as long as Sakusa has known him, Osamu is private out of choice, not out of fear of talking about things.

Atsumu, on the other hand, is the opposite—he’s a tempest of unsolicited remarks and oversharing of information. It took some time getting used to, but Sakusa has grown comfortable with Atsumu’s personality. Bottom line is: Atsumu has a big heart and an even bigger mouth. If Osamu didn’t tell him about the breakup with Suna, it was probably for a good reason.

But as Sakusa’s breathing settles into a deep and comfortable rhythm, he recognizes that there are some things he doesn’t tell Atsumu, either. Namely, how, a few months in, this is the most comfortable Sakusa has ever been with anyone, ever. It surfaces when he hears Atsumu muttering to himself, somehow both cursing out Osamu while also vocalizing concerns about his well-being.

Sakusa’s well aware that the affection squeezing his chest is more than just a crush. It’s more than just mild feelings. Actually, he’s known about it since earlier on when they were still getting to know each other and he saw Atsumu as little more than a nuisance who gave good tosses. And as Sakusa got to know Atsumu better, something deeper developed along the way.

It’s alarming and wonderful, and although Sakusa is well aware of what Atsumu thinks of their relationship, he hasn’t found the words to talk about this yet with Atsumu. Break ups are scary, but progressing in a relationship is even scarier, and if Sakusa’s not careful, he knows he’ll say something wrong or the wrong way.

So as Sakusa buries his face against the back against Atsumu’s head, wrapping his arm around Atsumu’s chest and stroking one thumb along the curve of his collarbone, he tells himself that, for the time being, keeping this one thing from Atsumu is for a good reason. Atsumu, who’s known for sticking his nose in business that shouldn’t concern him, who’s known for wearing his heart on his sleeve, who’s known for expecting the same in return—he doesn’t need to know, at least not yet.

Somehow, the weight of Sakusa’s feelings for Atsumu is both a treasure and a burden, and as he drifts to sleep, he can only hope that Atsumu will see it as the former rather than the latter.

* * *

Sakusa can’t remember the first time he had feelings for someone. He’s never taken to people easily, or maybe people don’t take easily to him. It’s possible he developed feelings but didn’t recognize it. It’s also possible he never had any in the first place.

He does, however, remember the first time the topic came up. He was passing a volleyball back and forth with Komori in the backyard of Komori’s home when Komori mentioned it.

“You know, there’s a girl in my class who has a crush on you,” Komori said. His eyebrows were low on his forehead, thick and round and expressive despite being unusually short. He muttered under his breath when he shanked another spike from Sakusa. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Sakusa said. “Thanks.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

Sakusa shrugged and walked over to pick up the volleyball. He rubbed at the dirt scuffing the seams and spun it in his hands a few times. “Am I supposed to have something else to say?”

Komori tilted his head and squinted. They’d grown up together, so Komori had inadvertently become the one expert on Sakusa’s mannerisms. Even so, he continued to examine Sakusa like he was an insect under a microscope, which was both weird and unnerving.

“Are you interested?”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

“It’s Suzu-chan.”

“I still don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“She’s kind of small? With black hair?”

Sakusa frowned. He tossed the ball high in the air, and Komori received it overhand, setting it flawlessly. “You described about everyone in your class.”

“So you’re not interested?” Komori tensed in anticipation as Sakusa spiked it, adjusting the angle of his forearms slightly. It didn’t kill the spin completely, but at least the ball went up this time, veering off to the right rather than straight back to Sakusa. “That’s a shame, Kiyoomi. I thought she might be your type.”

Sakusa ambled over to pick up the ball again. He didn’t respond to that, but he did process Komori’s words carefully. Like other twelve-year-olds, the words _crush_ and _confession_ had begun to circle around his life. He didn’t expect many to come his way—people had a hard enough time offering friendship to him, and it was only because of Komori that Sakusa even interacted with people. Sakusa couldn’t imagine anyone confessing to him.

“I don’t think I have a type,” Sakusa finally responded. The sun warmed his skin and skidded across Komori’s irises as they glimmered.

“Everyone has a type.”

“Well. I don’t.”

“Maybe you’ll find one a decade from now.” Komori hummed, offering no further commentary, but the words stuck with Sakusa.

Sure, he didn’t know what sort of qualities he was looking for at twelve years old. He wasn’t looking at all, so maybe that was why he was so thrown by the sudden topic thrust in his face. But if Sakusa had come to learn anything from volleyball, it was that sometimes he didn’t have to go looking for something to find it. Sometimes it came to find him.

Sakusa sighed. This was too much thinking for a weekend practice with Komori.

So Sakusa tossed the ball again. He might not have had a type or anyone to have silly little crushes on, but as his chest swelled with satisfaction when Komori messed up the receive again, Sakusa smiled a bit. If romance was anything like the deep commitment and contentment he felt from playing volleyball, then maybe one day Sakusa would be interested. But for now, with Komori pointing and yelling at him for using too much spin, Sakusa figured it was a long time away, and there was no need to rush into uncharted territory.

* * *

Sakusa wakes up the next morning before Atsumu—he has an early morning meeting with his manager; Atsumu has fuck all to do before their game with EJP Raijin later that afternoon—and leaves before Atsumu wakes up. He presses a quick kiss to Atsumu’s forehead as he jostles on his jacket and bolts out the door for another long day ahead of him.

Atsumu texts him intermittently throughout the day. Sakusa doesn’t respond to most messages, but he does read every single one, at least from Atsumu.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> samu told me not to worry about it
> 
> can you believe that???
> 
> i was just asking if he was okay and he said DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT
> 
> now i’m not even worried i’m just mad
> 
> i’m just trying to be a good brother and he has the audacity to say THAT 

Sakusa clicks his phone off and settles into his seat for another mind-numbing meeting. His mind lingers on Atsumu’s flailing emotions and hopes that this will be resolved by practice tonight. Because if it’s not—well, half of the ex-couple in question will be there, and Sakusa tends to avoid interpersonal drama. 

In contrast, he knows Atsumu will pick a fight with Suna. And Suna, of course, will entertain him.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> WTF NOW HE’S IGNORING MY MESSAGES?
> 
> i tried to call him and i think he blocked my number
> 
> omi can you text samu for me
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> No
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> good morning to you too
> 
> please
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I have a meeting
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> yeah i know but you’re texting me anyway
> 
> :)
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Ugh

* * *

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> It’s not any of my business, but Atsumu asked if I could text you
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey
> 
> about what?
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Hold on let me ask him

* * *

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> What am I texting him about
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ABOUT WHY HE’S IGNORING ME????

* * *

> _Sakusa Kiyoomi has sent a photo._
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> dude i’m at work
> 
> he just kept on
> 
> texting and calling me…
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I’m at work too
> 
> So please say something so Atsumu leaves me alone
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hah sorry
> 
> tell tsumu
> 
> 1\. leave me alone you brat
> 
> 2\. i’ll talk to you later
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Thanks

* * *

> _Sakusa Kiyoomi has sent a photo._
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> WTF
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Did I relay the wrong message
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> no i’m saying WTF what do you mean so i “leave you alone”
> 
> that’s RUDE i am your BOYFRIEND
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Right now you are a nuisance
> 
> I am busy
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> >:(
> 
> ugh fine
> 
> have a good day omi omi see you in practice :)
> 
> and thanks for texting samu for me i’m still mad at him but
> 
> whatever

Sakusa stares at his phone. He purses his lips and types about ten different responses, deleting each draft until he settles on the safest option.

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Have a good day

* * *

Their match starts with an emotional disaster, as expected. It’s an emotional disaster because of Atsumu, also expected.

“You better give me some sorta explanation for this sorta shit. If you brush me off like Samu did, then I will—I’m gonna—”

“Do what, exactly?” Suna has his hands tucked into the waistband of his shorts as he lazily tilts his head, eyebrows raised. They’re supposed to be warming up, but it’s impossible when Atsumu fixates on completely irrelevant topics.

Atsumu’s eye twitches, and he crosses his arms. “What happened?” he demands, not even bothering to finish his thinly veiled threat from before.

“I think it’s pretty straightforward,” Suna drawls. He looks bored, which isn’t how Sakusa would have expected from someone who recently went through a breakup. His EJP Raijin jersey winks at Sakusa under the bright fluorescent lights of the gymnasium. He isn’t even visibly upset. “Don’t worry about it, Atsumu.”

“Didja do somethin’ to my brother?”

“No. It was mutual.”

“But _why_?”

Suna merely shrugs. Sakusa hangs back a bit, waiting for them to join in with dynamic stretching. He sees that Atsumu’s back muscles are tense, which is never a good sign. An even worse sign is the fact that he hasn’t even said hi to Sakusa yet, which he always does, the moment Sakusa walks in.

If this is affecting Atsumu this much, then it’s very possible that this will affect his gameplay, too. Sakusa hopes it doesn’t. He _hates_ losing against Komori.

“Miya.” Sakusa clears his throat when Atsumu ignores him, and tries again, this time louder. “Miya.”

Atsumu startles before turning on his heels. Suna peers past Atsumu’s shoulder and gives one of those sly smiles that Sakusa never knows what to do with. “Ah. Hi, Sakusa.”

“We should start warming up.”

“Yeah. Go start warming up, Tsumu.”

“Fuck off, Sunarin. You haven’t even told me what happened.”

“There’s nothing to tell. We’re still friends, though. So don’t worry about it.”

“Huh? How the fuck are you still friends?” Atsumu makes a grab for Suna’s elbow, but Suna twists out of the way. He takes a few quick steps and stands behind Sakusa, using him as a shield from Atsumu’s grabby fingers. “Hey. Suna. I ain’t done talkin’ to you yet.”

“Go talk to your brother.”

“He won’t talk to me!”

“That’s not my problem.”

“At least tell me why.” Atsumu’s brow furrows. “I don’t get it. I thought you two were doin’ well, and I’m a little confused about what happened all of a sudden. I assume it can’t be good, and I wanna make sure—y’know. It ain’t gonna be weird cuz he’s my brother and yer my friend and all that.”

Sakusa can sense Suna going still behind him. It’s not often that Atsumu talks like this around other people, let alone someone like Suna Rintarou. “Look at that, Atsumu. Your Omi-kun is waiting to run warm ups with you.” Suna pushes his hands against the flat of Sakusa’s shoulder blades and shoves him forward a little. Sakusa frowns, resisting, and Suna starts walking backward with a fox-like grin on his face.

“What the fuck was that?” Atsumu asks. “Didja see that, Omi Omi? Can you believe he just— _ugh_. Ugh! I can’t believe this. How am I—what do you think—um—this isn’t helpful at all! Ugh.”

Sakusa nods. He tries to calm him down, resting a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder, which relaxes a bit underneath the touch.

Atsumu stares after Suna with a somber expression, torn somewhere between frustration and resignation.

Sakusa pushes his hand a little, brushing his fingers against the slope of Atsumu’s neck. “Hey. Get a grip on yourself.”

When Sakusa traces the bump of Atsumu’s Adam’s apple, Atsumu flinches and turns towards Sakusa. Immediately, the pinched expression fades. “Sorry about that.”

“Try not to think too much about it for now.” Sakusa withdraws his hand, but Atsumu catches it deftly with his fingertips. Atsumu holds up Sakusa’s hands and examines his fingertips, as he’s prone to do to ensure that Sakusa’s hands aren’t bruised or scraped. “You’ll wind up accidentally tossing into Hinata’s face again.”

Atsumu scowls. “That was an accident.”

“Yeah. And you’re lucky he didn’t get a concussion.”

“I just thought they’d last,” Atsumu says, and his comment throws Sakusa off. Even though he’s moving from finger to finger, checking the nails for cuts, Atsumu’s mind is somewhere else. “Y’know? I really thought they had somethin’, based on how I talked to Sunarin and Samu all the time. I dunno. You ever feel that way, Omi?”

Sakusa stills. Now’s a perfect time to talk about how, yeah, he’s been feeling that way, at least lately. That it’s almost uncanny how naturally things fell into place for them. He hadn’t been looking for Atsumu, but Atsumu came barreling in all the same.

It doesn’t make sense. Like everyone’s comments: _you’re dating him? He’s dating you?_

So it’s a perfect transition, but they have a game to play. 

“I’m not sure if I know exactly what you mean,” Sakusa says. “But we have a game, Miya. Get it together.”

Atsumu gently lowers Sakusa’s hand, sighing as he does so. “You’re right,” he says reluctantly, and he draws his eyes up towards Sakusa’s.

Sakusa doesn’t know how this started: the electric feeling that goes straight from his eyes all the way to his toes. It erupts faster than a miraculous quick set straight from Atsumu’s fingers, and it hits him harder than one of his spikes swishing past receivers across the net. “You can talk about it with Osamu later.”

“Mhm. Guess we should warm up, then.”

“Yeah. I’ve been saying that.”

Atsumu snorts, and just like that, the small bouts of tension steaming off of Atsumu’s skin begin to weaken. “Always direct when it comes to dealin’ with my crises, ain’tcha?” 

“I’d hardly call your complaints to Suna a _crisis_.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let’s warm you up real good, so you don’t got an excuse later when I beat you in service aces.”

“Statistically speaking, that’s highly unlikely. You know that, right?”

“ _Yes_. Geez.” They begin walking towards the rest of their team, where Meian waits with an expectant raise of his eyebrows. Hinata and Bokuto already have flushed cheeks, and Inunaki sticks his tongue out when Sakusa glances over towards them.

Right as Sakusa is about to join the circle for warmups, Atsumu snatches him by the wrist. “Wait.”

“What?” Sakusa stops in his tracks and turns to face him.

Atsumu breaks into a wide smile. It doesn’t matter that they saw each other last night and that Sakusa had woken up next to him this morning. His joy is persistent. Even if it’s temporarily taken over by concern, it always circles back around. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.” Atsumu tugs him a little closer, and Sakusa indulges him, just a little. “I just wanted to say hi, since I didn’t get a chance to when you got here.”

“I just saw you yesterday.”

“And? I still wanna say hi to you.” Atsumu gives a quick squeeze before releasing him. He lifts one hand and waves. “So. Hi, Omi-kun. Hope you had a good day.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes again. Still, his heart crackles, especially when Atsumu sticks out his tongue and gives a cheeky wink. “C’mon,” Sakusa says, a smile curling up on his lips. “Let’s get ready to play some volleyball.”

* * *

Sakusa first encountered Ushijima at the inter-middle school tournament, briefly in the bathroom, then on court, where Ushijima’s team crushed Sakusa and Komori’s team in straight sets. It was a new experience for Sakusa, and one that drove him to practice even more. For the first time in his life, Sakusa felt like he met someone worthy as an opponent.

From there on out, it was the one team Sakusa looked forward to playing against. Even Komori noticed the extra attention Sakusa showed during matches against Ushijima. It always perplexed Komori, although Sakusa couldn’t imagine why, especially considering that Komori’s lifelong goal was to beat Sakusa. So far, Komori was a long way off from that goal.

And Sakusa was a long way off from beating Ushijima, too. Even back then, Ushijima Wakatoshi was a beast. Built like a tractor and with powerful spikes to match, Ushijima intimidated most people around his age. That was never a problem to Sakusa. He’d been too absorbed by this mysterious left-handed force to consider being intimidated.

One day, after getting their asses kicked by Ushijima once again, Komori had said, “So that’s your type?”

Sakusa had frowned as he zipped up his track jacket. “What type?”

“That Wakatoshi guy. You seem interested in him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You kept staring at him during the game.”

“He’s the ace of their team, Komori.” Sakusa picked up his bag and slung it around his shoulders, stuffing his hands into his pockets to join the rest of the team. “I play the same position. Of course I was staring at him during the game.”

“Well.” Komori clicked his tongue. “Okay, then.”

The conversation died, but it left Sakusa with the realization that maybe his idea of ‘types’ and ‘interest’ was different from what Komori thought. He wasn’t _interested_ in Ushijima beyond beating him in the number of points they respectively scored.

Sakusa shrugged it off and went on with his day, and Komori never brought it up again.

He’d see Ushijima in passing, at training camps and in tournaments, and on those occasions, they shared reserved and uncomplicated conversations. Ushijima seemed as uninterested in non-volleyball things as Sakusa, so they never said more than necessary.

Komori was as bewildered with the first interaction as he was with the rest of them. _How the hell_ , he’d say, _do you manage to talk to Ushijima_?

Sakusa never had an answer to that. Because he talked to Ushijima the same way he spoke to other people, but Ushijima never found him weird or uncomfortable or rude. Furthermore, Sakusa never got nervous around Ushijima like other people did. He was never that worried he’d offend him, either. They spoke with nonchalance, although Komori often said that other people found blunt and direct conversations unsettling. 

Though they could hardly be called friends, Sakusa found Ushijima interesting. And he liked him as much as you could like someone who was your rival and nothing more.

Maybe Sakusa _did_ have a type, if this so-called interest was related to people who got him to stare a little bit more than usual. And maybe his type was ‘volleyball’. Or, more specifically, ‘good at volleyball.’ It wasn’t a terrible type to have. Sakusa could have had worse tastes. If he was lucky enough, his preferences would stay as simple and uncomplicated, and all this wishy washy relationship stuff would be simple and uncomplicated, too.

* * *

EJP Raijin steals a win by a narrow margin. It’s a home game for the Jackals, but it feels like the entire stadium cheers when Komori gives an emergency set towards Suna during their match point. Suna all but smirks as he twists his torso in classic Suna Rintarou fashion, but as his arm swings forward with snappy force, he pulls back at the last possible millisecond.

The feint skips over the top of a triple block, and Sakusa hears the guttural, “Fucking hell, Suna!” from Meian as it drops neatly to the ground. Hinata and Inunaki miss it by the barest margin, and Suna lands on his feet, perspiration dripping down his forehead, smug as ever. The whistle blows—the MSBY Black Jackals have lost.

Sakusa sighs. Despite going through a breakup, Suna might be in the best condition that Sakusa has ever witnessed up close.

Everyone underperforms when they’re going through a breakup. This alone raises suspicions in Sakusa’s mind. Either Suna’s _really_ not bothered about breaking up with Osamu, or he’d never been that interested in Osamu in the first place.

“Damn it,” Atsumu mutters, but Suna merely lifts a hand and waves. 

“Close game, Kiyoomi!” Komori shakes Inunaki’s hand under the net as they line up, but he grins gleefully at Sakusa. “Almost had us at the end there.”

“Shut up, Komori.”

“Now, now. That’s not good sportsmanship.”

“We’ll win next time.”

“Mhm.” Komori flashes him a peace sign, and Sakusa all but wants to snap his fingers in half. Losing doesn’t upset him—it’s a byproduct of playing hundreds and thousands and millions of games; no one can win them all—but having Komori flaunt it makes acceptance all the more difficult. “Maybe next time you can actually score a service ace off of me.”

“Shut _up_.”

Komori cackles and, for a brief moment, Sakusa feels like they’re back in Komori’s family’s backyard, passing a volleyball back and forth. Musing about volleyball and life and school and relationships. Komori has grown substantially since then, but his easygoing, curious nature has persisted. “Really, though,” he says. “Good game.”

Sakusa nods absentmindedly. His eyes wander towards Atsumu, who doesn’t look happy. Atsumu never looks happy after a loss, but this time, he looks particularly upset.

Komori waves Sakusa off. “I’ll see you at Onigiri Miya afterwards?”

“I guess.” Sakusa hadn’t even been aware that they were going there.

As if reading his mind, Komori explains, “We’re joining you all for post-game. It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

“So you should show up, for once.”

Sakusa scowls. “I come all the time.” Komori laughs at Sakusa’s blatant lie as he turns to return back to his teammates.

Atsumu materializes next to Sakusa as they gather with their team, and Sakusa wants to make comments about his lack of focus, but he doesn’t. Instead, he trails his fingertips down the delicate skin of Atsumu’s forearms, where the veins pop up the most. Atsumu finally glances over in Sakusa’s direction right when Meian gets to the part of his monologue about post-game pleasantries. When Sakusa raises his eyebrows, Atsumu forces a smile.

He’s not sure what to expect. Because it’s not _just_ going to Onigiri Miya—Suna will be there, too, and although Sakusa has limited experience in dealing with breakups, he’s sure it’s bound to be uncomfortable.

* * *

Sakusa had heard about the infamous Miya twins. Everyone knew who they were. He’d never played a game against them in volleyball, but he’d caught wind of them as being the ‘best twins in all of Japan’s amateur volleyball leagues.’ Back then, Atsumu was an alternate setter for Inarizaki and Sakusa was the up-and-coming ace. They were both first years, but Sakusa was half a stride ahead of him, since he was already a starter. So was Osamu. But not Atsumu.

In all honesty, word of mouth didn’t mean anything to Sakusa if he didn’t get to witness it himself. So before Itachiyama’s first match at that year’s Interhigh tournament, Sakusa had asked Komori to accompany him to spectate Inarizaki’s match.

Inarizaki, adorned in black and white uniforms, moved with lethal aggression that Sakusa wanted to chastise. He’d long since come to know that discipline and strategy were the perfect methods to winning a volleyball game. Still, watching them play was entertaining. Unexpected. Something always new.

When one of the stone-faced middle blockers was called off the court for a substitution, Sakusa’s attention was drawn towards him.

“That’s one of the Miyas,” Komori pointed out. “The other one is—oh, he’s over there. He plays opposite. Remember them? They’re the ones Kazoe-kun was talking about. Their team won the middle school spring tourney.”

And there was Miya Atsumu in all his gangly, fifteen-year-old glory, looking smug as he stared at their opponents across the net. He didn’t look like he was about to serve. He looked like he was about to assassinate someone.

“How do people even tell them apart?” Sakusa muttered, because both Miyas had the same face, and back then, both Miyas sported dark brown hair, almost black.

Komori snorted. “One of them is loud. The other isn’t.”

Sakusa adjusted the loops of his face mask so it fit more comfortably over his mouth and nose, eyes never leaving the court for a second. Even from this far away, he watched as Atsumu took six steps away from the court, raised his arm in dramatic fashion and, right as the band music swelled, he abruptly clenched his hand into a tight fist.

The band went silent.

“What the hell was that?” The hairs on the back of Sakusa’s neck stood.

A third voice joined them. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Sakusa-kun.”

Sakusa turned to Iizuna. He settled next to Komori, leaning his elbows against the railing as he peered at the game below. Sakusa turned his attention back to the court right as the server squeezed the ball between the palms of his hands. He tossed the ball up, ran forward, and jumped. In the blink of an eye, the ball went hurtling and collided with the lines of the other side of the court.

Sakusa’s eyes narrowed.

“Miya Atsumu,” Iizuna said. He tapped his fingers on the railing as an amused smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “I hear he’s got a nasty jump floater, too, even if it’s not always inbounds. So I hope you’ve been practicing your overhand receives, Motoya-kun. You’ll be dealing with it for the next three years.”

“I bet I can receive his serves easy.”

“Two hundred yen says you can’t.”

“Komori sucks at overhand receives,” Sakusa responded, and Komori sputtered in indignation. Iizuna tossed his head back and laughed, the sound echoing as the band got cut off again by one of Atsumu’s fists.

“One of my cousins goes to Inarizaki,” Iizuna continued. He glanced at Sakusa. “He said Miya’s just a pinch server right now. But apparently his setting’s even nastier.”

“Nastier than yours?”

“I’m a good setter, Sakusa-kun. Miya Atsumu is a nasty one. I’ve got an extra year of experience on him, I doubt I’m anywhere near his level of beast.” Iizuna shrugged. Sakusa frowned, because as far as he was concerned, Iizuna was the best setter he could’ve asked for. Communicative. Direct. Always adjusting his toss to each hitter. He couldn’t imagine anyone being more skilled than him, not at a high school level, anyway. “I’m sure he’ll only get better as time goes on, so you’d better keep your eye out for him.”

Sakusa nodded absentmindedly as Atsumu scored another no-touch ace. He could see the stress sinking into the opposing team, etched into the stiff movements of their limbs and the downturned snarl of their mouths. He almost felt sorry for them. 

But he also felt a strange flash of exhilaration. If Inarizaki made it to the fourth round, then based on the bracket, they’d match up with Itachiyama. That was, of course, assuming that Itachiyama could beat Shiratorizawa.

“His brother is a starter, though?” Sakusa asked, pointing towards the court. Atsumu’s identical twin didn’t move with nearly as much prowess as Atsumu. He made no unnecessary movements, much like Sakusa himself. His play style was clean and precise. “Can he serve like that, too?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t know much about Osamu other than that he’s a well-rounded player.” Sakusa pocketed this information in his brain as Iizuna squinted in concentration. “The starting setter is a third-year, and he’s good, too. So Atsumu being a pinch server makes sense. I mean, look at him—he just scored, what? Four points in a row?”

“Five,” Komori corrected, and for some reason, it annoyed Sakusa.

It was stupid, but there was something inside of him itching to outdo this so-called beast.

If Atsumu scored five service aces, then Sakusa decided that he’d score six.

“I hope you’re working on your overhand receives, too, Kiyoomi,” Komori teased. “You can’t have a guy like that be embarrassing you out on the court.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes. Iizuna and Komori’s conversation faded off into the background as Atsumu’s serve was shakily received by the opposing team’s libero. The ball moved from libero to setter to middle blocker in the flash of an eye, and just like that, Atsumu was called off the court.

But what caught Sakusa’s eye was that Atsumu stood with his back straight, chest high, chin up. He exited the court like a goddamn prince, not just a one-time-per-game pinch server. Sakusa bit his lip as he tilted his head to the side, watching as Atsumu took his place back on the bench beside the coach. The Inarizaki coach turned to Atsumu and patted his shoulder, and despite having his time cut short, Atsumu offered a toothy grin in return.

“He seems real happy being out there,” Komori said.

Sakusa shrugged him off, turning away from the Inarizaki match. He glanced back one last time and saw Atsumu’s small figure leaning forward in anticipation, eyes nowhere but the match right in front of him. In the grand scheme of things, a couple points earned or lost didn’t matter. It wasn’t a life or death situation, nor would it determine what would come next. Yet something about Miya Atsumu made it feel like every second meant something.

He didn’t think he’d ever know what it was like to be _that_ elated from scoring a few points on the court. It felt unlikely and improbable considering Sakusa’s personality.

Secretly, Sakusa hoped that maybe one day he would.

* * *

“You got some real explainin’ to do.”

Osamu doesn’t even glance up as he shapes onigiri with deft fingers. “You’re a customer in _my_ shop, Tsumu. Go join yer team and wait till I serve you.”

Atsumu leans over the counter, hands planted firmly against the wooden surface. Sakusa tries to tug him by the elbow, but Atsumu doesn’t pay him any attention. “I can’t fuckin’ believe I found out about yer breakup through Twitter.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Osamu wears his standard Onigiri Miya outfit, complete with his cap pulled snug across his forehead. He places a perfectly shaped onigiri on the platter beside him, and when he catches Sakusa’s eye, he reaches for a set of plastic disposable gloves hidden behind the counter. “Umeboshi, right?”

Sakusa nods, and Osamu turns around, eyes searching until he finds the rice paddle in a bowl behind him. Indignation flashes in Atsumu’s eyes. They’re freshly showered, and their teams are crowded around two long tables shoved together in the back corner of Onigiri Miya. Osamu has taken to closing the store early on days that volleyball teams come in for post-game festivities.

“Yes, please,” Sakusa says, and Osamu turns to call out to one of his staff members about drinks. 

“At least tell me what happened, Samu.”

Osamu must catch on to how Atsumu is beyond the point of being pissed, because he stills, craning his neck to look at his brother. Much like Suna, he doesn’t look like he’s in the middle of a breakup. In fact, he looks completely normal.

Sakusa frowns. Is acting and being normal a normal reaction to breaking up with a long term boyfriend? He’s seen plenty of his friends go through break ups, and he can recall many late night runs to fast food joints and nights out drinking at izakayas that end with sniffles and tears.

“It was mutual,” Osamu explains. “That’s all. We’re still friends, Tsumu, so you don’t gotta worry about it bein’ weird.”

“I ain’t worried about it bein’ weird, you moron. I’m worried about _you_.”

“Shouldn’t you be worryin’ about you more? Sakusa-kun beat you at yer petty service ace competition again.”

“This ain’t about me! This is about how you and Suna—the two people who’ve been together, like, forever—ain’t together anymore. This is a big deal. I’m tryna make sure you’re doin’ okay, and that I don’t need to kick Suna’s ass or anythin’.” Atsumu scoffs. “But whatever. Forget about it. You’re bein’ a prick.”

Atsumu stomps away, and Sakusa sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

Osamu hums. “He’ll get over it.”

“Are you ever going to tell him?” Sakusa asks, and he’s just short of begging Osamu to please give _something_ to Atsumu. Otherwise he knows Atsumu will be cursing about this for the next three weeks. “I don’t really care otherwise. But Atsumu isn’t someone who’d let this drop. You know that.”

“Yeah. I know.” Osamu shrugs. He gives the onigiri in his hands another squeeze, handing it off directly to Sakusa. 

“Thanks.” The rice is warm in his hands, and Osamu gives him a thumbs up. Right when Sakusa is about to ask him how long he’s planning on withholding information, Osamu’s eyes veer off to the side.

His gaze softens. Sakusa notices this, and when he turns his head to the right, he sees Suna slouched over the counter.

“Komori’s asking for okaka filling,” Suna says with ease. “I told him you’re always out by the end of the day, but he’s not listening to me.”

“So much for gettin’ him under control.” Osamu laughs. Even his laughter sounds different from Atsumu’s. Quiet and shy, as if he’s worried about spoiling a joke that hasn’t been told.

“Yeah, I don’t think _anyone_ can get him under control.” The ends of Suna’s thick hair are still damp, and he rests his elbows on the counter, chin propped up by his knuckles, as he watches Osamu at work behind the counter.

Sakusa is suddenly thrown by the intimacy of this situation. He knows he should go join Atsumu, but it catches his attention and he slowly takes a bite of onigiri while he observes. Suna’s eyes trace Osamu’s silhouette, and his otherwise bland expression is betrayed by the slightest upward tick of the corner of his mouth.

Even if they’re not dating, it’s clear that Suna still adores Osamu. Sakusa’s never been the best at reading people, but this much, he knows.

But they’re exes. There is no ‘Suna and Osamu’ anymore. It’s just ‘Suna’ and ‘Osamu.’

So why the _fuck_ does Sakusa suddenly feel like a third wheel?

“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Sakusa asks.

Osamu and Suna freeze, and Suna appears to notice, for the first time, that Sakusa is standing a mere ten centimeters away from him with a half-eaten onigiri in his hand. “Uh.” Suna draws out the syllable. “What makes you ask that?”

“Pretty sure I’d know if I was datin’ someone.” Osamu raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s just…” Sakusa’s voice falters. How is he supposed to broach this topic without sounding absolutely insane? The article Atsumu had originally showed Sakusa came directly from Suna’s spokesperson. It’s possible that it’s some wild PR stunt, and Suna and Osamu are faking it for reasons beyond Sakusa’s knowledge.

“What is it, Sakusa?” Suna raises his eyebrows. “Do you have something you wanna ask me?”

“Atsumu’s stressed about you two breaking up,” Sakusa says. “Please de-stress him.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Well. He won’t listen to me.”

Osamu snorts. “I don’t think Tsumu’s listened to a single good word in his life.”

“So you’re really not dating anymore?” Sakusa asks again, and Suna shakes his head. “And it’s not temporary, either?”

“Nope. I’m the one that spoke directly to the press, so don’t break your brain questioning everything for no reason.” Suna reaches across the counter and snatches up a slice of pickled daikon, and Osamu wields his rice paddle with an impish gleam in his eye.

“Don’t touch the fuckin’ radish, Sunarin.”

Suna pops the daikon slice in his mouth and sticks his tongue out.

“Huh,” Sakusa says, but neither Osamu nor Suna seem to notice.

It doesn’t make sense. There isn’t even a flicker of sadness or discomfort between them. 

Instead of pressing further, Sakusa returns to the table, where an empty seat wedged between the wall and Atsumu awaits him. Suna doesn’t come with him, lingering for murmured small talk with Osamu, and it leaves Sakusa more befuddled than anything.

There’s nothing inherently problematic about how Suna shuffles closer to Osamu, about how Suna rests his hips flush against the counter and leans so far forward his torso is almost parallel to the ground. It just doesn’t make sense given their current non-relationship status.

Sakusa knows that if he wants a chance to rub the pout off of Atsumu’s face, he’ll have to get to the bottom of this. Part of it is selfish: he wants to pull Atsumu out of his funk so they can sit down and have the long-awaited talk that Sakusa has been avoiding ever since the day Atsumu called him drunk at the bar.

None of this is his business. Osamu and Suna can date and break up and be easy with anyone they want in the world. It’s not his problem. But Osamu is Atsumu’s brother, which means that Atsumu makes Osamu his problem. And because Atsumu is Sakusa’s boyfriend, this is, by proxy, Sakusa’s problem, too—whether he likes it or not.

* * *

The Interhigh Tournament during Sakusa’s second year was unforgettable. They’d won their first four matches in straight sets and Sakusa broke new records in points scored on court. Anticipation twitched in Sakusa’s chest when he looked at the board and saw their final match: **Inarizaki High School (Hyogo) vs. Itachiyama Institute (Tokyo)**.

This was what he’d been waiting for, after all. He hadn’t gotten a chance to even play Ushijima in the tournament, since Shiratorizawa had been booted at the quarterfinals. The teams Itachiyama had faced were challenging, but none of them piqued Sakusa’s interest as much as Ushijima or Miya Atsumu.

He’d watched a couple Inarizaki games in passing. They were different from how Sakusa had considered ‘normal.’ Atsumu setting, rather than last year’s setter, made the entire team vibrate with intense energy and vitality that was so palpable it made the hairs on Sakusa’s neck stand up. Nothing about Atsumu’s attacks were intuitive or calculated, and based on the reactions of Atsumu’s teammates, they thought so, too.

Sakusa joined his team in a line and bent forward at his hips in a respectful bow. “Thank you for the game.”

When he righted himself, he saw Miya Atsumu smirking right back at him. It sent a zing down Sakusa’s spine.

Atsumu didn’t look away when Sakusa noticed him looking. His stomach churned when it dawned on him how, much like Sakusa knew who Atsumu was, Atsumu had to know who Sakusa was, too.

A flare of determination worked its way through Sakusa’s bones as he settled into his position in the back row. 

When Atsumu took six steps back from the court, a chill worked its way up Sakusa’s spine. He wasn’t sure what sixth sense was working inside of him, but he knew that Atsumu was going to target him. The crowd was more silent than Sakusa had ever seen, and when Atsumu tossed the ball in the air and ran up to meet it, one thought echoed in Sakusa’s brain: _bring it on_.

The ball came flying in the seam between him and Komori, but Sakusa yelled, “Mine!” before Komori’s instincts could kick in. Atsumu’s serve was fast, but fast wasn’t enough to beat Sakusa. His forearms stung with the impact of the ball colliding against his skin, and with a minor adjustment of his muscles tensing, the ball went spinning up in a rainbow arc towards Iizuna’s position at the net.

Sakusa watched as Iizuna settled under the ball, arms raised, and the barest flicker of his eyes compelled Sakusa to make an approach.

The ball went curving wickedly from Sakusa’s palm into the back left corner of the court, where Atsumu had stood, and landed right on the spot where the two lines met.

Sakusa heard his teammates erupt in cheers around him, and he heard the screech of the whistle, but when Atsumu’s head turned from the spot the ball hit to Sakusa standing across the net, everything else fell away.

Despite losing the point and getting cut off at one serve, Atsumu’s face erupted in a huge grin.

Sakusa tightened his fist and raised it, high enough that Atsumu noticed. An overwhelming sense of pride gathered in his chest when the grin slipped off Atsumu’s face, quickly replaced by a scowl. The thrill Sakusa got from stealing a point from talented, overzealous Atsumu made all other feelings Sakusa had about volleyball—and subsequently everything else in the world—pale in comparison, and Sakusa loved it.

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i found another article confirming samu and suna’s breakup
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Why do you need that
> 
> They’ve already confirmed it to you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> I KNOW I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE IT OKAY
> 
> you know samu didn’t even tell my parents
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> He didn’t?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> no. i just called them today and they were really surprised
> 
> then samu texted me and had the nerve to be annoyed for telling them???
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> But it’s in the news
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> I KNOW
> 
> anyway 
> 
> is it weird i’m kind of sad lol
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I don’t think you need to be sad. Osamu and Suna are still friends
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i mean i know that but
> 
> they’ve been together for ages
> 
> maybe love isn’t real after all
> 
> T___T
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Stop being dramatic
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> I’M NOT I’M JUST SHOCKED OKAY I NEED TO PROCESS THIS
> 
> UGHHHHHHHHH LOVE AIN’T SHITTTTT
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Miya…

* * *

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Hey
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Your brother is distressed about your breakup
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> yeah i can tell
> 
> but
> 
> oh well
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Please fix this
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> tf what do you want me to do
> 
> he’s YOUR boyfriend
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Well he is YOUR brother
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i liked you better back when you still thought tsumu was a pest
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I still think he is a pest
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> but now he is YOUR pest
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Ugh

* * *

“So I guess we’re on the same team now, ain’t we, Sakusa Kiyoomi-san?”

Sakusa glanced up from where he’d been stretching on the floor of the gymnasium. It was his first day with the MSBY Black Jackals, and, as always, he arrived twenty minutes early. He didn’t feel nervous despite quite literally being in the big leagues now, but the moment he glanced up and saw a fresh crop of shiny blonde hair, an unusual twist settled in his gut.

“Miya Atsumu,” Sakusa said.

Atsumu crouched down, close enough that if Sakusa reached forward, he could push Atsumu backwards onto his ass, far enough that there was empty space between them, a space that bristled with palpable energy.

He grinned. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Sakusa muttered under his breath.

He’d watched matches of the Jackals playing, both live and streamed through the computer. He witnessed firsthand how Atsumu, a rookie fresh out of high school, had managed to go from bench to starting setter within one season. While Sakusa was up late studying for finals and scrambling to get from class to practice for his university team, Atsumu was busy carving a name for himself in Japan’s V. League.

“Lookin’ forward to playin’ with you. But I wantcha to know, I’ll give you the best sets I can—” Atsumu lifted an eyebrow. “—but in exchange, you’d better not botch yer spikes. I ain’t just here to play. I’m here to win.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes, but something about Atsumu’s tone of voice made his stomach lurch. He slowly dragged his gaze from the floor in front of him up into Atsumu’s face. His heart rate picked up when he saw the embers of passion and determination in Atsumu’s eyes, the confidence in the solid set of Atsumu’s jaw. The same hunger Sakusa witnessed their first year of high school was still there.

Perhaps it was the competitive streak lingering from their high school rivalry, or perhaps it was the lack of Atsumu’s presence for the past three years of Sakusa’s life, but something stirred in Sakusa. He couldn’t shake the sense that the steady state of his routine was about to be disrupted. Sakusa nodded in acknowledgement as he returned to focusing on pressing deep into his stretches, swallowing the overwhelming desire to catch up and rise to Atsumu’s level.

Before, he’d thought—he probably wouldn’t. But maybe, just maybe, he could.

* * *

They’re in bed, half-naked, Sakusa’s hand wedged between them, when Atsumu interrupts in between gentle moans. “I just—can’t believe Samu’s playin’ this off like none of it is a big deal. Makes you think that what they had wasn’t a big deal, either.”

Sakusa sighs, dropping his head against Atsumu’s shoulder. His skin feels sticky, and his breath is warm when he says, “Miya.”

“What?”

“I literally have my hand on your dick right now.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” Atsumu loops his hand around the back of Sakusa’s neck and gently guides him so he can have a full view of Sakusa’s face. “I keep gettin’ distracted. I’m sorry.”

Sakusa squeezes, and Atsumu lets out a grunt, muscles twitching from the sudden movement. His eyelids flutter shut, and Sakusa presses his lips against the curve of Atsumu’s collarbone. “Let’s talk about this _later_.”

“Okay.”

He gives a few strokes, the way Atsumu likes it, only to stop, prop his weight up on his elbows, and peer at Atsumu’s face when he’s strangely silent. “I can tell you’re still thinking about it.”

“Ugh.” Atsumu sighs. He twirls Sakusa’s curls around his fingers. He doesn’t look like he’s getting a hand job right now, nor does he look like he’s ready to have sex. Atsumu looks more like he wants to have a therapy session right now than getting laid.

Sakusa’s nose scrunches as he weighs whether or not they should give up or power through Atsumu’s mental disarray. This happens once in a while—where they’re both in the mood, but one of them is too caught up with other things to be able to focus on having sex. The options are simple: carry on and have mediocre sex, or call it off completely.

Sakusa opts for the latter. He releases Atsumu from his grip and flips onto his back with a huff. Atsumu doesn’t even protest.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Stop apologizing.”

“I can blow you if you want.”

“I’m not interested in a blowjob if you’re going to be thinking about something else the whole time.”

Atsumu snorts a laugh. “Yeah. Especially when it’s my brother and Suna.”

“Exactly.”

Sakusa hears the ruffle of bedsheets and the creak of the mattress as Atsumu turns to his side. They’re in Atsumu’s room, which Sakusa secretly likes more than his own apartment. Sakusa’s apartment is tidy and clean, just like he likes it, but he enjoys that Atsumu has made his apartment feel more like home. He has old awards lined in a disarray on his shelves and posters peeling off the walls and held up with rusty thumb tacks. There are faded photos printed and framed on his desk, including one from Sakusa’s first game playing for the Jackals.

Their whole team is in it, and Sakusa’s standing slightly off to the side. There’s about twenty centimeters between him and Atsumu. Bokuto is splayed out on the ground with the widest grins on his face, and Inunaki is bent forward with his hands on his knees. Barnes and Adriah kneel with on one knee each, Meian’s eyes veer a few degrees off from the camera, and Atsumu has one hand on his hip, tongue stuck out, hand raised in his signature fist pump.

Sakusa has the same image framed and hanging in the living room in his own apartment. It was long before he and Atsumu started dating, and even before Sakusa started to _really_ feel like he was part of the team. It’s a reminder of humble beginnings. It’s funny looking at it now, because having Atsumu around is so natural that he almost forgets where they’d both started.

“I don’t think I’m buyin’ this true love shit anymore, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. Dramatic, as always. “I think you’re taking this a bit too personally.”

“No, I ain’t!”

Sakusa thinks back to Suna and Osamu in Onigiri Miya, flirting with each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t even know if they’re telling the truth.” Even though it’s press-official, something just doesn’t seem _right_. But Sakusa has no explanations about why Osamu and Suna might lie about it, so he pitches the vague theory with the expectation that it’ll fall flat. “For all you know, they’re just playing a really elaborate joke on you.”

“Goin’ through the press to confirm it? I don’t think so, Omi-kun. I’m sure they’re broken up, and they’re both pretendin’ to be fine with it in order to make it easier.”

But nothing about Suna and Osamu in Onigiri Miya post-break up seemed like they were _pretending_.

“Don’t tell Suna this,” Atsumu continues, as if Sakusa ever speaks to Suna of his own volition, “but he’s kinda like family now. I mean, I’ve known him for ages. And he and Samu have been datin’ since even before Onigiri Miya started.”

“I know.”

“So I don’t understand how they can break up like that, and not even be bothered by it. We haven’t been datin’ as long as they have, but if we broke up, I’d be gutted, too, y’know?”

Sakusa nods. A warmth spreads across his chest. He’s thought about break ups every so often, not because he wants to end things with Atsumu, but because he knows that the likelihood of him and Atsumu lasting forever is slim. There’s a twist every time Sakusa thinks about it, which reassures him that staying with Atsumu—no matter how annoying or persistent Atsumu might be—is the best choice he could possibly make.

The hesitation echoes in the room, and Sakusa reaches out blindly for Atsumu, dragging one hand up the length of Atsumu’s arm before settling on his chest. “Go on.”

In the dim lights of the street lamps creeping through the window, Sakusa can barely make out the furrow of Atsumu’s brow. He pokes at it with his finger, and Atsumu immediately relaxes. “Sorry. It’s nothin’.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll—when Samu finally decides to talk to me, I’ll get over it. Or maybe he’ll never talk to me and I’ll still get over it.”

“Mhm.” Sakusa traces circles with his pointer finger on the left side of Atsumu’s chest.

When people ask him, _What do you like about Miya Atsumu?_ the answer is as vague as it is simple. Sakusa can’t eloquently describe the comfort Atsumu’s physical presence brings, nor can he articulate the lift in his mood every time Atsumu texts him. Even when Atsumu is like this, distracted and moody as fuck, Sakusa doesn’t mind. Maybe he did at first, but not anymore.

But by far, the best thing about Atsumu is his heart. His despair about Osamu and Suna’s split is one example of his heart getting in the way. Sakusa’s first impressions of Atsumu led him to believe that he only had room in his life for volleyball. That might’ve been true when Atsumu was an immature and brash teenager, but he has grown to express care for more than just the sport, including other people. He’s as snarky as he is kind and as genuine as he is stubborn.

If all else were to fade and Atsumu needed to be distilled down to one part of his anatomy, Sakusa would have to choose Atsumu’s heart.

“Sorry for ruinin’ the mood.” Atsumu breaks the silence and tugs Sakusa by the hips, rolling him onto his back. He hovers above Sakusa, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. There’s a knowing glint in his heavy-set eyes, and he gives Sakusa a quick kiss as his hand skims the length of Sakusa’s body and settles between his legs. “Where were we?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes but hefts one leg up, winding it around Atsumu’s hips and pulling him closer. A shuddery sigh slips out of his mouth when his neglected erection presses into the solid mass of Atsumu’s thigh. “I was giving you a hand job and you were talking about Suna and Osamu’s break up.”

“Right. Sorry about that.”

“I already told you to stop apologizing.”

“Well, I’m gonna apologize anyway. Lemme make it up to you.”

“Nope.” Sakusa’s breath hitches when Atsumu pushes his palm against Sakusa’s crotch. His dick jumps up in anticipation, and Atsumu’s mouth meets Sakusa’s neck. His tongue traces the vein pulsing with every ounce of friction. “Too late.”

“Mm. Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Try again—” The words sound strangled as Atsumu pushes past the band of Sakusa’s underwear. His hand is warm and his movements are careful as he grinds his palm against the sensitive nerves near the head of Sakusa’s dick. “—tomorrow.”

Atsumu laughs against Sakusa’s skin, and his lips brush against the delicate ridge of Sakusa’s throat. Sakusa’s heartbeat quickens again, but for another reason.

Because this is the version of Atsumu that Sakusa enjoys the most. Where he’s carefree and devilish and fun. It’s a nice break from Sakusa’s generally serious temperament. Everyday there’s always something different with Atsumu, whether they’re in bed together and experimenting like it’s their first time having sex, or they’re lounging on the couch bickering about who has to clean the toilets.

Sakusa has heard about relationships getting stale and routine and monotonous. His relationship with Atsumu is never like that, and he wonders if they’ll reach that point one day. He hopes they don’t, but if they do, then Sakusa wants to take advantage of every moment they have now, when everything is fresh and revitalizing.

“Somethin’ tells me you’re playin’ hard to get again.”

“Atsumu—”

Within a blink, Atsumu’s kissing his way down Sakusa’s torso, tugging at the hem of Sakusa’s shirt to pull it up and over his head. When his head dips between Sakusa’s thighs, his mouth replaces his hand, hot and wet and eager, and any distraction is forgotten. His tongue curls against him as Sakusa curses, legs spreading further to make room for him. Atsumu pulls back and grins, leisurely pumping Sakusa’s cock a few times for good measure. “Still wanna wait till tomorrow?”

If Atsumu were distilled down to his heart and to one other part of his anatomy, Sakusa decides it would need to be his mouth. Part of it is because of the precise way Atsumu’s tongue traces every nerve of Sakusa’s body, but most of it is because of every confession, large and small, Atsumu gives him. It gives Sakusa almost enough courage to say his confessions out loud himself. 

Almost.

But not quite.

* * *

When Atsumu and Sakusa first started dating, Sakusa wasn’t sure what to make of it. Sometimes Sakusa would sit in the silence of his room wondering how the fuck he managed to get sucked into another one of Atsumu’s shenanigans.

Because Sakusa hadn’t been the one to actually offer a relationship. He hadn’t asked for one, either. It was a quiet Tuesday night. Atsumu had cooked fried rice and broiled mackerel, and Sakusa brought beer from the minimart down the street. They’d gotten used to alternating dinners together, one night at Sakusa’s, one night at Atsumu’s. Occasionally they’d invite some of their teammates when they were feeling particularly social.

That evening, it was just the two of them, and Sakusa was in the middle of doing dishes as Atsumu scrolled through Netflix movie options on his phone. He stopped and said, “Omi-kun.”

Sakusa scrubbed at the grease stuck on one of the plates, counterclockwise. The water was chilled, and his fingers had already started to prune. “What?”

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“You just did.”

Atsumu snorted. “No, really. It’s important.”

“If you’re going to suggest watching Terrace House again, the answer is still no.”

“It ain’t about movies. Somethin’ completely different, actually.”

Sakusa frowned. He placed the sponge to the side and turned on the water to rinse the suds off. “What is it?”

A foot nudged at the side of his thigh. “Can you look at me?”

Sakusa sighed. He finished rinsing the remaining bubbles, shut off the water, and turned. Atsumu was seated on top of the kitchen counter, and his face was unusually serious. His hair was messy from lack of styling after practice, and he wore a thin t-shirt that clung to the curves of his shoulders.

“What is it?” Sakusa repeated. He ignored the fact that Atsumu’s toes were still pressed against his sweatpants and how the simple touch made his stomach flop. 

“How long are we gonna keep doin’ this for?”

“Doing what?”

“Y’know.” Atsumu lifted a hand and gestured vaguely. “This thing. Where we hang out and—are together without really talkin’ about it.”

“Huh?” Sakusa carefully set the wet plate on the drying rack next to the sink before wiping his hands with a clean kitchen towel. He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms, not quite sure what Atsumu was insinuating. “What are we not talking about?”

“Do you really not get it?”

“No.”

“Man.” Atsumu sighed. “Mori-kun was right. You really are clueless, ain’tcha?”

“If you’re just going to insult me, I’ll go ahead and—”

“I’m tryin’ to ask you out, you moron. Since you clearly ain’t gonna be the one to do it.”

Sakusa’s cheeks flared. “Oh.”

He was well aware that he hung out with Atsumu far more than anyone ever expected him to. He couldn’t help it—it was convenient at first, because they lived down the hall from each other and had a shared interest in volleyball and saw each other everyday for practice. But somewhere along the way, convenience turned into something entirely different.

By now, they’d already created a habit of hanging out several days a week, and most weekends, Sakusa would go over to Atsumu’s place just to watch movies and past tapes of volleyball games. They slipped into a natural rhythm for the past several months, and Atsumu quickly became the closest person in his life, save for Komori.

He was also well aware that his feelings for Atsumu had crossed the line from friends into more-than-friends, though he didn’t feel compelled to do anything about it. Sakusa rationalized that feelings were often temporary, so he never brought it up, though he had a sense that Atsumu noticed it. But Atsumu was gracious enough not to say anything. Or maybe Atsumu was just as clueless as Sakusa was when it came to this sort of thing. Or maybe, when the time was right, Atsumu would speak up.

Which he did, while sitting on the edge of his kitchen counter, oil staining the hem of his shirt and a couple of beers flushing the apples of his cheeks a lovely pink. 

Sakusa stared a little longer than necessary before clearing his throat and fumbling with a proper response. “Do you want that?”

“If I didn’t, why would I be asking?”

“I don’t know.” Sakusa paused. “Is that a yes?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and let out a breathy laugh of disbelief before hopping off the counter. He took two quick and sudden strides before planting himself right in front of Sakusa, nose-to-nose, both hands propped on the sink, caging Sakusa in place. His hair brushed against Sakusa’s forehead, and Sakusa’s breath caught, but he didn’t lean away.

“If you don’t want this, you got about three seconds to let me know.”

Atsumu’s eyes sparkled in the dim lights of his kitchen, and it turned out that Sakusa didn’t need three seconds. His mind drew a blank for one, then the next, he was pressing forward to catch Atsumu’s lips with his.

Atsumu returned his kisses with the same vigor he brought into Sakusa’s otherwise quiet life. Within seconds, Atsumu was yanking Sakusa by the hips and pushing him up on the kitchen counter, settling himself between Sakusa’s knees and cradling Sakusa’s face with his hands. Any sense of restraint Sakusa had exercised evaporated the moment Atsumu slid his tongue through the seam of Sakusa’s lips.

There was nothing grand or romantic or extraordinary about it. It wasn’t the kind of confession Sakusa had seen on television or in movies. In fact, there was something mundane about it, and days later, when Sakusa explained the getting-together story to Komori, he’d receive little more than confused looks of: _That’s it?_

But that was something Sakusa had come to learn from Atsumu over the years of knowing him. If something as simple as pinch-serving in a high school volleyball game could be that monumental, then so could casual confessions followed by making out in the kitchen with the smell of cooking oil and soy sauce lingering in the air.

Sakusa pulled back to catch his breath, hands pressed into the dip of Atsumu’s waist, and he replied, “I’ll date you.”

Atsumu smiled with the same victorious look he got with every point he scored on the court. It sent butterflies deep into Sakusa’s stomach and tingles dancing across his spine. He couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at him like that before. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll date you, too.” Atsumu pressed a kiss at the corner of Sakusa’s mouth. His lips were chapped but damp with spit, and Sakusa rubbed away the excess moisture with the swipe of his thumb. “I’ll date the fuck outta you. I’ll date you until you’re all dated out.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Atsumu merely shrugged, pulling Sakusa in for another searing kiss, and Sakusa was surprised to find himself smiling into it.

Maybe he didn’t have a type before, but he certainly did now—and to his surprise, his type just so happened to be none other than Miya Atsumu.

* * *

Sakusa gets used to the idea that Suna and Osamu are now exes. Internet coverage on the low-profile celebrity couple dies down after a week. People lose interest. People move on.

Sakusa had seen several comments on Suna and Osamu’s social media profiles, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t already done some snooping online to see what things people are saying about them. Some of the bigger prolific accounts—stan accounts, or whatever—have declared that true love is dead and relationships should all be cancelled. Sakusa thinks it might be a joke, but honestly, he’s not sure.

He doesn’t see either of them too frequently. Nothing really changes. Nothing, except Atsumu, who continues to cling onto this as a topic at the dinner table and at practice and at social gatherings and in bed. It gets so bad that Sakusa has given up on having uninterrupted fuck sessions.

“It’s been two weeks,” Sakusa says one day.

“Yeah? And?”

“Get over it.”

Atsumu pouts. He pauses as he’s tying the loops of the trash bag, jutting one hip out. “You’re bein’ heartless, Omi-kun.”

It’s so bad, in fact, that Sakusa turns to Osamu himself for a simple request.

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Can you just fake date Suna to get Atsumu back to normal.
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> HAH
> 
> no

It’s more complicated, especially considering that Sakusa has finally come to the point in his relationship with Atsumu where he’s ready to say a lot of things. Namely, he’s ready to hit the next milestone in their relationship, the part where _like_ turns into other four-letter words. It’s been building since day one and maybe even before then, and it comes swinging at Sakusa the moment Atsumu comes out of the shower, mumbling to himself, “Hot pot together. Just the two of them. Who the fuck do they think they are?”

Sakusa sits on the couch, and he sees Atsumu, damp hair in disarray, shirtless, towel around his shoulders, and Sakusa’s sweatpants low on his hips.

It hits Sakusa:

_I love this guy._

Sakusa’s chest tightens. Atsumu has a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, and he’s scrolling through his phone, completely unaware of this realization.

 _Oh_ , Sakusa thinks to himself.

“Oh.”

Atsumu glances up. “What?” The word sounds odd with Atsumu’s toothbrush in his mouth, and a bit of toothpaste foam drips onto his chin.

Sakusa’s face heats, and he shakes his head, turning back to his book. “We should leave in ten minutes,” Sakusa says. “Osamu said to be there by noon.”

Atsumu nods and goes back to his phone. The only sound in his apartment is the rhythmic scuff of the toothbrush bristles against his teeth, and after a couple of minutes, Atsumu returns to the bathroom to finish washing up.

Sakusa’s breath shortens a bit. It’s different for him. He’s not like Atsumu, who can love and hate and laugh and cry as easily as a child. Sakusa has never been in love, and aside from his family, he’s not sure he’s loved anyone, either.

Love is, in essence, a fickle emotion that most of the human population could probably do without. But the moment the realization hits him, Sakusa is struck by how much he wants to tell Atsumu.

Sakusa sighs. This would be so much easier if Atsumu weren’t fixated on Osamu and Suna’s break up. Trying to get Atsumu in the mood for sex is hard enough. Trying to get Atsumu in the mood to listen to how much Sakusa loves him seems downright impossible.

When Atsumu comes out of the room, fully dressed and ready for lunch at Osamu’s place, Sakusa stands and drops his book on the couch. He doesn’t say much on the trip over, and lets Atsumu fill his mind with incessant chatter.

Atsumu has made it clear that he’s all in for the two of them, and Sakusa hasn’t minded being dragged along for the ride. It’s different, with the word _love_ in Sakusa’s vocabulary now. The small declarations of affection—cleaning Atsumu’s bathroom, showing up unannounced with takeout, offering to do serving and setting and spiking practice during their free time—suddenly don’t seem like enough.

Actions speak louder than words, but right now, Sakusa thinks that words might be the loudest thing in the world. He’s never been a loud person, though, and Atsumu’s only half-listening to anything in the world outside of his breakup-induced crisis. So Sakusa settles for another action, slipping his hand into Atsumu’s and giving a quick squeeze. For now, this will do.

 _I love you_ , Sakusa thinks as he intertwines their fingers together.

Atsumu pauses his rambling to look at Sakusa before offering a gentle smile back. Whether intentional or not, he’s sure that Atsumu has received the message, and that Atsumu’s following hand squeeze is his way of saying the words back.

* * *

“Do you think we’re movin’ too fast?”

Sakusa paused right as he aligned himself along Atsumu’s groin, poised to press down. His skin, tacky with sweat, chilled a bit, and he reached for the blanket to drape it over his shoulders. “What? Right now?”

“No I don’t mean—fuck, _no_. Not right now. I don’t mean like that.” Atsumu’s fingers skidded across Sakusa’s thighs before settling on his hips. His eyes traced the length of Sakusa’s naked body above him, irises blown with equal parts hunger and affection. “Actually, you could move a little faster.”

Sakusa shot him a dirty look, and Atsumu giggled. “Moving too fast how?”

“Just—us.” Sakusa gripped at the sheets as Atsumu reached between his legs to pump his erection. “Do you think we need to take it slower?”

Sakusa didn’t think so. It had been a month of dating, which turned out to be little more than their regular friendship with kissing and sex thrown in. It wasn’t like there were any marriage proposals, or any plans beyond what to cook for dinner the next day. “Why are you asking?”

Atsumu shrugged. He looked divine in the dim light of Sakusa’s bedroom, head pressed back against the pillows as he gazed up at Sakusa. “I dunno. Maybe we are.” 

“Do _you_ think we are?”

“Honestly?” 

“Honestly.”

Atsumu paused. “No. I like us. And how we are.”

“Then why—” Sakusa said through shudders coaxed out by Atsumu. Atsumu’s grin curled up further as Sakusa’s leg muscles spasmed. “—are you asking?”

Atsumu looked like he wanted to say something more, even as he gave a jerky handjob. Sakusa caught how his focus wavered and the glow in his eyes dimmed, hand slowing down for a fraction of a second. He chewed his bottom lip, red from making out, and Sakusa frowned, expecting Atsumu to explain.

But he didn’t—a rare feat for him. Atsumu wasn’t someone who kept things to himself.

“Forget I said anythin’,” Atsumu said. “Let’s just fuck already.”

“You’re the one that interrupted.”

“I ain’t interruptin’. Go on right ahead.”

Sakusa bit his bottom lip, wondering if he should press the issue before deciding that Atsumu could always bring it up later. He guided Atsumu towards him, hips sinking down, slow and careful. They’d done this a number of times, and even so, the sensation of Atsumu as close to his body as possible forced Sakusa to catch his breath, chest heaving, eyelids fluttering shut.

Once his body had adjusted to him, he opened his eyes to find Atsumu looking at him. He still looked at him with the same curiosity as the first time they played a game against each other in high school. But there was something else under his stare that pricked at the swelling in Sakusa’s chest.

“I like us a lot,” Atsumu murmured as Sakusa braced himself to begin moving.

Sakusa paused.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Atsumu’s forehead, one on his nose, and finally, a full one on his lips. Atsumu chased him with his mouth, tongue seeking to deepen the kiss, and Sakusa’s hand came to rest on Atsumu’s chest as he broke away.

“I like us a lot, too,” Sakusa said, because he knew, with full confidence, that it was the truth. Atsumu’s face broke out into a smile wider than anything Sakusa had ever seen, and Sakusa decided that he liked that, too. Everything about Atsumu and Sakusa and them—he liked it.

* * *

In hindsight, Sakusa blames Osamu. Osamu should’ve known better than to leave the front door unlocked. But Osamu is just as careless as Atsumu is with these small things. Sakusa had told Atsumu to knock, as he always does whenever they show up to Osamu’s apartment. And—as with every time they come over—Atsumu barges straight in.

The door slams shut, and Atsumu says, “Samu, we’re here!” He kicks off his shoes and sticks his feet into the slippers left by the door, and at the end of the hall, he suddenly stops in his tracks.

Sakusa neatly lines Atsumu’s shoes along the wall and leaves his sneakers beside them, frowning when he sees that Atsumu isn’t moving.

“What are you doing? You’re in the way, Miya.”

But when Sakusa shoves past Atsumu, he sees what’s got Atsumu frozen in his tracks.

Osamu’s sitting on the couch. That’s not the weird part.

The weird part is that Suna’s sitting on his lap, arms around Osamu’s neck, and they’re both frozen, not even looking at Atsumu.

“Uh,” Sakusa says, because no one else is saying anything. Osamu’s face is bright red. Suna slowly turns his head towards them. It registers in Sakusa’s mind that Suna is not wearing a shirt.

“Hey,” Suna says. “You guys are here early.”

Sakusa clears his throat. “You’re...here.” He glances to the side to see Atsumu’s jaw hanging open, eyes so wide that it’s mostly whites showing, and he doesn’t move.

Suna climbs off of Osamu’s lap and reaches for his shirt, discarded on the floor. There’s a faint hickey on his chest, and his mouth looks very red. “For fuck’s sake, Atsumu. You need to learn how to knock.”

“What the fuck?”

Atsumu’s voice is so jarring that even Sakusa flinches. Horror crawls its way across his face, and he slowly picks up one finger and jabs it in Suna’s direction. “What the _fuck_ are you doin’ makin’ out with my brother?”

Suna merely shrugs as he shakes out his t-shirt. “What does it matter to you?”

“I thought you two broke up!”

“We did,” Osamu says. He clears his throat when his voice comes out as a tight creak, and he chews on his bottom lip as he straightens his sweater. Sakusa sends a quick prayer of thanks that he and Suna are otherwise fully clothed. 

“But you two were _kissin’_!”

“Yeah. And?”

“Why were you kissin’? What the fuck is this? I cannot—why?” 

“Miya.” Sakusa tugs at Atsumu’s elbow when it looks like Atsumu is about to lunge. His eyes have a manic gleam to them, and for a moment, Sakusa’s afraid that he’ll actually throw a first punch. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to fuckin’ calm down, Omi Omi.” Atsumu jerks away from Sakusa’s grip and crosses his arms. “You told me you were over! Samu, you said that you and Suna were done, and that it was permanent. And _you_.” Atsumu glowers at Suna. “Why are you kissin’ Samu? If you’re done with him, you should stay done with him!”

“I haven’t found anyone new to kiss yet,” Suna remarks. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugs, looking infuriatingly comfortable despite the less-than-comfortable situation. “And I wanted to kiss someone. And Osamu’s here, so.”

“What the hell are you even doing in Osaka?” Sakusa narrows his eyes. Neither of them answer.

“I can’t believe you’re usin’ my brother like that.” Atsumu crosses the room looking ready to pick a fight, but Suna doesn’t look intimidated. He towers over Atsumu by a few centimeters, and he scrunches his nose in annoyance when Atsumu gets in his face. “I always knew you were an asshole, Sunarin, but this is goin’ too far.”

“Tsumu—”

Atsumu glares at Osamu. “I can’t believe this. You’re _okay_ with this?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Osamu blinks. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It was his idea,” Suna offers. “Relax, Atsumu. You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

Atsumu falls into a stunned silence. Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He’s sure he’ll have to hear more of this later, because he knows that in Atsumu’s mind, the only thing worse than breaking up is subjecting yourself to continual distress by hooking up with an ex.

“That’s fuckin’ grand, considerin’ how—”

“Atsumu.”

Sakusa’s voice breaks through and snaps Atsumu out of his frenzy. He whips around to face Sakusa, who’s still standing by the door. “Why don’t you order us lunch?” he says, because at the rate this is going, it’ll be a while before the conversation resolves itself. As important as it might be, Sakusa is hungry, and the sooner Atsumu distracts himself with another task, the better. “We can talk about this over lunch.” Sakusa unzips his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the empty chairs. “Will you be joining us, Suna?”

Suna and Osamu exchange a glance that lingers. Atsumu doesn’t notice it, because he’s too busy looking at Sakusa with puppy dog eyes as he nods slowly in agreement.

But Sakusa catches it. He has the same feeling he got when he saw Suna and Osamu flirting over daikon radish at the Onigiri Miya counter.

“Alright. I’ll do that.” His head whips around again towards his brother and Suna. “But we are _not_ done with this conversation.”

Osamu rolls his eyes as Atsumu pulls out his phone to place an order at the Taiwanese takeout nearby. “You’re such a fuckin’ drama queen, Tsumu. This ain’t yer business, and—”

“I’m getting pretty hungry, too,” Suna interrupts, throwing Osamu a look. “Tsumu, can you pull up the menu?”

As Suna huddles over Atsumu’s shoulder to peruse the menu, Sakusa shuffles over to the empty chair next to the couch. Osamu’s mouth is pressed into a tight line as Sakusa studies him, knowing full well that there’s something inarguably odd about this situation.

He’d joked with Atsumu that Osamu and Suna are faking a break up just to mess with Atsumu, and if that’s true, then it’s working. But Sakusa just can’t figure out _why_.

“You should’ve locked the door,” Sakusa says absentmindedly. He picks off a piece of lint from the sleeve of his shirt. “This could’ve been avoided.”

“Tsumu shouldn’t have just barged in.”

“Well. I’m sure he wouldn’t have if he’d known you’d have a guest.” Osamu tenses, and Sakusa decides to push it a bit further. “I didn’t even know he was in the area, Osamu-kun.”

When Osamu glances over at Sakusa, his usually blank expression shifts ever so slightly. His eyes widen, not as much as Atsumu when they walked in, but enough to make the corner of Sakusa’s mouth curl up in quiet amusement, enough to make his eyebrows furrow in disbelief, and enough to confirm what Sakusa had considered since the first day he say the headlines.

He mouths the word to Osamu: _busted_.

Osamu glances away and doesn’t respond, but like most things with the Miya brothers, it doesn’t have to be said.

* * *

The phone call came in the middle of the night. Sakusa blindly had to fumble around for his phone on the nightstand, eyes squinting as he tried to blink away the blurriness that clouded his vision. 

It was two in the morning, and the caller ID read **Miya Atsumu**.

“Are you fucking serious?” Sakusa huffed as he answered the call. “What do you want?”

On the other end of the line, Sakusa could hear a clamor of dishes. “Omi-kun?” The speaker flickered to life with Atsumu’s voice. His words were slurred, a mess made even worse by the poor sound quality. “Sorry. Didja just wake up?”

“It’s two in the morning, Miya.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m going back to sleep—”

“Wait!” Atsumu sounded panicked, and there was an abrupt screeching of wood against wood. Sakusa rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, picking away the crust that gathered there. Atsumu had gone home to Hyogo for the night to celebrate his cousin’s engagement, leaving Sakusa with a rare weekend alone. 

It was funny, because he’d expected to look forward to some time alone. Sakusa had deep cleaned the apartment and gone for a haircut and watched a couple of movies. Atsumu hadn’t texted him, likely too busy with his family and friends, so Sakusa had turned in early for the night.

It was funny, because even though it was two in the morning and Sakusa’s body wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep, the sound of Atsumu’s stupidly drunk voice jolted his bones and filled him with an intense wave of comfort.

“What is it, Miya?”

“I just wanted to call you.”

“Oh.” Sakusa sighed as he sat up, shuffling backwards on his bed. He adjusted the pillow, propping his back against it. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Atsumu giggled. “I just wanted to call my boyfriend. Is that such a crime?” 

By this point, they’d been dating for three months, and Atsumu still hadn’t gotten over the use of the word. He used the term ‘boyfriend’ every chance he got, and even though Sakusa rolled his eyes, he didn’t actually mind. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I just—I missed you.”

“I saw you yesterday.”

“But you ain’t with me, and so I miss you.” The sound suddenly became muffled, as if Atsumu were covering the microphone with a hand, and he said, “Gimme a sec,” before the persistent thudding of footsteps filled Sakusa’s eardrum.

Sakusa breathed a laugh. He’d long since gotten used to Atsumu’s drunken shenanigans. His mouth always started running and his hands always started wandering, regardless of whoever else was around. “Sorry about that, Omi Omi. ‘S too loud in there.” Atsumu sounded clearer now, and the clamor from before had disappeared almost completely. “I’m upstairs now so it should be no problem.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at obaa-chan’s house. It’s loud.”

“It’s late.”

“I know. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“It’s okay.”

Atsumu paused. Sakusa heard Atsumu smack his lips and winced at how dry his mouth sounded. When he spoke, he dragged out every other word, and Sakusa had to lower the volume a bit to avoid the sound from ringing in his ear. “I wish you came with me. You should come with me next time. Everyone’s askin’ aboutcha.”

“What?”

“Y’know. They’ve all seen you playin’ in our games. So they know who you are. And they wanna meetcha.”

“I see.” Sakusa’s face warmed. “Maybe next time, then.”

“You really mean that? You’ll come with me next time?”

“Well, yeah.” 

“God. You’re the best.”

At this, Sakusa actually laughed out loud. He could picture Atsumu now: flushed cheeks, mussed hair sticking up in weird places, wearing only a t-shirt because he always got too hot whenever he drank. Eyes half-closed with an uncontrollable and relaxed smile dancing on his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Omi-kun?”

“Hm?”

“I love you a lot, y’know. Just wanted to tell you.” Atsumu made a weird noise that sounded like a hybrid of a belch and a hiccup. “A lot.”

Sakusa stilled.

Atsumu had certainly never said _that_ before.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Atsumu said, too rushed, too strained, and Sakusa’s stomach flopped with the realization that he hadn’t said anything in response. “I just wanted to tell you. Since we’re, y’know. Boyfriends and all that. And we’ve been—we’re together. And I love you. So I wanted to tell you.” Another hiccup. “Think it’s about time I toldja.”

“Um,” Sakusa said, because while he knew this milestone would be hit eventually, he hadn’t expected it to happen _this_ way, in the middle of the night with Atsumu out of town and drunk and Sakusa half asleep and still dazed.

The silence that followed was deafening. Sakusa heard the rush of blood in his ears as he struggled to find an adequate response. _Thank you_ didn’t sound appropriate, and neither did _Okay_. And Sakusa didn’t want to say it back to Atsumu yet, either, because he hadn’t thought much about love and whether or not that was what he felt towards Atsumu. 

Atsumu’s breathing was heavy over the phone. Finally, he spoke. “Kiyoomi.”

Sakusa swallowed. “Yes?”

Atsumu hiccuped, followed by another disgusting burp. The quality of his voice sounded thicker, and definitely not in a good way. “I think—shit—I think I’m gonna yak.”

Sakusa elicited a strangled yelp as he said, “Go to the bathroom, Atsumu. Hurry—”

The line immediately went dead, and the silence felt thicker than the sound of Atsumu’s voice. He pulled the phone away and stared at it, wondering if he’d imagined the whole conversation. He texted Atsumu just to make sure, to let him know he could call him or text him if he needed, then set his phone on the nightstand and stared up at the dark ceiling above him, looking for answers to garbled questions running through his mind.

 _What the fuck_ , Sakusa thought to himself, _do I say to that?_

* * *

Sakusa kicks Atsumu out and tells him to pick up the takeout, because he could use a walk, and also because he’s convinced that if the four of them stay in an enclosed space any longer, something’s going to catch on fire. He tells Suna to go, too, for good measure, even though Atsumu still seems to be ready to strike out at a moment’s notice.

The door thuds shut behind Suna and Atsumu, and Sakusa listens as the footsteps fade down the hall of Osamu’s apartment complex. Osamu busies himself cleaning and vacuuming the kitchen—though it looks clean to Sakusa—and Sakusa watches him.

Osamu moves with methodical and focused movements that make it entirely too obvious that he’s ignoring Sakusa on purpose.

“Osamu-kun.”

Sakusa’s voice cuts through the moment Osamu kills the vacuum, and from several meters away, Sakusa can see Osamu’s back muscles tighten. He unplugs the cord of the vacuum from the outlet and slowly winds it around. “Yes, Sakusa?”

“Why are you pretending that you and Suna broke up?”

Osamu freezes again. To his credit, he recovers quicker. “Wadaya talkin’ about?”

“I’m assuming there’s a reason why you’re acting like it,” Sakusa continues, “even though what you’re doing can hardly be called acting. You both suck at it.”

Osamu turns and glares at Sakusa, wielding the end of the vacuum cord. “You’ve been gettin’ pretty fresh with me lately. I dunno how I feel about it. Havin’ one Tsumu is enough.”

Sakusa leans back against the sunken in couch cushions and folds his arms up, hands clasped behind his head. It’s rare that he and Osamu are in the same space as each other. It’s even rarer that Sakusa bothers making small talk with him. “If you’re going to pretend to break up, you should probably stop acting like a couple.”

Osamu sighs. He stands up and shoves the vacuum into the closet, brushing his hands off. “Does Tsumu know?” he asks.

Sakusa shakes his head, and a breath of relief slips from Osamu’s mouth. “You’re lucky Atsumu is too busy being distraught over your break up. He hasn’t realized that it’s some sort of—ploy.”

“When didja figure it out?”

“After the EJP Raijin game. When we were all at Onigiri Miya.” Sakusa frowns. “You and Suna were flirting like you usually do.”

Osamu curses under his breath. Sakusa doesn’t know what’s more ridiculous—the fact that Atsumu hasn’t realized that they’re faking it, or the fact that Osamu thought he and Suna were actually passable as ex-boyfriends. “Don’t tell Tsumu.”

“I actually already did, but he didn’t believe me.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Okay.”

Osamu runs his fingers through his hair. When Sakusa first got to know the Miya twins, it was always little jarring for him. They’re identical, and they’re similar, but at the same time, they’re different. Luckily, he hasn’t embarrassed himself yet by calling one of them the wrong name, and now, after a couple of years hanging around the Miyas, Sakusa can easily differentiate who’s who. For Osamu, his facial features are a little softer, his expressions more subdued, and he’s always a little slower to respond—slower than Atsumu, anyway. “Rin’s parents keep pressurin’ him to—y’know. Take us to the next step.”

Sakusa frowns. “What?”

“They say we’re gettin’ older now, and it’s time to settle down and shit, even though we’re not even close to our thirties yet. I keep tellin’ Rin to ignore them, cuz it ain’t even like we’re in the same city yet. But I guess they’ve been super persistent and keep pushin’ him to propose.”

“Propose?” Dawning realization hits him. “Oh. You mean a marriage proposal.”

“No shit, Sakusa. Me, I don’t get bothered by that sorta thing. But I guess it’s Rin’s parents and his sister and his grandparents and everyone else annoyin’ him. So I said we should pretend to break up, as a joke. And you know Rin.” Osamu’s face erupts in a wide smile as he laughs with affection, focus drifting at the thought of his fake-ex-boyfriend-slash-real-boyfriend. “He takes one joke and fuckin’ runs to hell with it.”

“Sounds like Suna.”

“Exactly. I pitched it to him before I took a nap, then a couple of hours later I woke up to our breakup in the news.” Osamu laughs again. “That was, ah...an interestin’ twist to the evenin’.”

“Did it work?”

“Uh.” Osamu gives a pained expression as he rubs the back of his neck. “To be honest, it kinda backfired. I guess now his parents and everyone are scoldin’ him for dumpin’ me and tellin’ him that we should get back together.”

At this, Sakusa resists the urge to smack his palm into his forehead. “You should just tell Atsumu, then.”

“Fuck, no. You _know_ Tsumu has a big mouth. He’ll never be able to keep this shit to himself.”

“But—”

“Sorry, Sakusa-kun. It ain’t my call. It’s Rin and his family, so I told him to do whatever he needs to do to get them to lay off a bit. I don’t mind either way.” Osamu shrugs. “I still got my boyfriend, so I don’t really care.”

Sakusa grits his teeth. He wouldn’t mind it if Atsumu didn’t care. But Atsumu cares a lot. Too much. He opens his mouth to protest, but Osamu cuts him off with the shake of a head. “Take it up with Rin. I’m just rollin’ with the punches.”

Before Sakusa can push this further, Osamu excuses himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Sakusa in the living room alone. He knows he has no right to meddle in Osamu and Suna’s business, and he can kind of understand why Suna would do something like that. Again, he wouldn’t mind if Atsumu didn’t care.

But Atsumu cares. A lot. And it’s part of the reason why Sakusa fell in love with him in the first place.

Sakusa sighs. For all the trouble it brings, love better be fucking worth it.

* * *

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Hey
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Why are you texting me
> 
> We’re literally at lunch together
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Osamu told me you guys aren’t really exes
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> God Osamu can NOT keep his mouth shut
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I mean you kind of made it obvious
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> What
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Never mind that
> 
> Can you stop pretending to be exes so Atsumu stops being in a mental funk?
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Have you been subjected to your parents asking you every single day when you’re going to propose to Atsumu?
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> No
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Then I do NOT want to hear it
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Well
> 
> It’s not fair that I have to suffer for your problems
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> My god you are sounding more and more like your dumb bf with every passing day
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Suna, I don’t ask for a lot
> 
> Please
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> :^(
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Just pretend to propose to him or something
> 
> That should get your parents to leave you alone, right?
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Huh
> 
> You know, that’s not a half-bad idea
> 
> Let me talk to Osamu first to get his opinion
> 
> Don’t tell Atsumu yet though
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Or you could actually propose
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I’m going to block your number

* * *

As it turned out, Atsumu threw up twice the night of the drunken confession, a fact that Osamu informed Sakusa of the next morning when Atsumu wouldn’t reply to any of his calls. Osamu had dragged Atsumu to the train station for the ride back to Osaka, and he’d sent Sakusa a picture of Atsumu, slumped over the seats, clutching his bag to his chest with a hat pulled low over his eyes. Atsumu looked like he’d seen better days.

Sakusa looked that way, too, but that was because he’d slept a total of four hours last night. Right as he’d been on the cusp of sleeping, he’d jerked away again with thoughts storming into his consciousness.

When Atsumu showed up at Sakusa’s doorstep after showering and taking a much needed nap, significantly more lively than he’d looked in Osamu’s photo, any turmoil in Sakusa’s chest melted away. He allowed Atsumu to pull him into a hug before pushing him onto the bed, legs dangling off the side of the mattress as Atsumu kissed him like it had been a year since he’d last seen him and not just a day.

Right as Atsumu’s hands snaked under Sakusa’s shirt, palms running along the planes of his stomach, Sakusa pulled back and cleared his throat.

“Hm?” Atsumu squeezed the sensitive part of Sakusa’s waist, where he knew was the most ticklish, and Sakusa jolted and cursed as Atsumu laughed. 

“Are you—is your hangover better?”

“Mm. Yeah. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Sakusa licked his lips as he pressed his fingertips against Atsumu’s cheek. “You must have drank a lot last night.”

Atsumu snorted. “I mean, yeah. Samu egged me on and got me drinkin’, like, twice as much as I usually do with the family.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I threw up twice.”

“So I’ve heard.” Sakusa paused. “Do you remember calling me?”

“Last night?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Atsumu pursed his lips as his eyes drifted, squinting slightly as he tried to recall last night’s events. After a couple moments, he said, “No.”

Atsumu had never been good at lying.

But there had to be a reason why he wasn’t admitting it. Maybe he’d said it impulsively, or he didn’t really mean it, or he wasn’t ready to say it yet. There were a number of possibilities, and Sakusa chewed the inside of his cheek weighing the best option for now.

He figured—well, Atsumu was the one taking the lead up until now, between initiating their early hangouts and asking Sakusa out and being the first one to offer sex. And Sakusa still wasn’t one-hundred percent confident that he knew he felt the same way. He wanted to say it when he meant it, and he wanted to mean it when he said it. 

He didn’t question it. Instead, Sakusa tangled his fingers into Atsumu’s hair and pressed his hips flush against Atsumu’s body, dipping his head to kiss him. It was chaste, quick, and simple, and his nose brushed against Atsumu’s as he murmured the closest thing to a confession that he could offer at the time.

“Welcome home, Atsumu.”

* * *

The longer the lunch goes on, the more Sakusa is convinced that Suna was right when he’d texted that Atsumu is, indeed, a dumb boyfriend. He doesn’t even bat an eye at Osamu and Suna’s continued intimacy, and instead accuses Suna for using Osamu in an exes-with-benefits arrangement that strings his brother along with the promise of nothing more.

The entire time, Sakusa bites down on his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything. He tells himself he’ll give it one week for Suna and Osamu to figure things out. If they can’t come to a solution, then he’ll cave and spill the beans to Atsumu. Sakusa might lose some respect and a bit of trust from Suna and Osamu, but it’s worth it if he can have Atsumu back to normal.

They leave Osamu’s house with Suna lounging comfortably on Osamu’s couch, with Osamu shooting apologetic looks at Sakusa, and Atsumu mumbling under his breath about _dignity_ and _self-respect_ and _mutual respect_. 

Atsumu rants nonstop all the way back to their apartment complex. Sakusa, for the most part, nods along, not offering much more than noncommittal hums.

At the end of it, when Atsumu flicks on the light to Sakusa’s apartment, he collapses into a silence. His breathing is erratic, and he has a constipated expression on his face, and for some reason, this is enough for Sakusa’s feelings to well up all over again.

Seriously, this guy—how is it that he’s both the stupidest person Sakusa knows as well as the person with the biggest heart?

“I keep tellin’ Samu that nothin’ good can come outta fuckin’ around with yer exes. He told me that he’s fine and—I just think he’s prolly just convincin’ himself that things are all _normal_ , since they still hang out and hook up and everythin’.” Atsumu flops onto the couch. He has one leg splayed out over the back of the couch, and the hem of his shirt rides up just enough to expose a sliver of skin at his lower belly.

Sakusa joins Atsumu on the couch after discarding his jacket. The cushions dip below his weight, and Atsumu temporarily moves his legs out of the way to let Sakusa get comfortable. His feet drop onto Sakusa’s lap, and Sakusa rests his forearms against Atsumu’s shins, curling his fingers around his calves.

“Don’tcha think maybe that means they didn’t love each other in the first place?”

Sakusa sighs. “Atsumu, I’m sure that’s not the case.”

“But they got over it so fast. Y’know, I’m gonna go on believin’ they didn’t really love each other. That’s better than thinkin’ that what they had was love and it’s so empty that after breakin’ up it doesn’t affect them at all.” Atsumu groans as he covers his eyes with his hands. “Love and relationships mean nothin’ these days. Just look at my idiot brother and his idiot ex-boyfriend.”

Atsumu is the idiot here.

And Sakusa’s the one that loves him.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah? Tell me how you know that, Omi Omi, cuz right now, I’m just seein’ that my brother’s three-year relationship broke off and that not only are he and Sunarin completely functional, they’re also still hookin’ up. It’s like I said.” Atsumu sighs. “Man, I really thought they were gonna last. Guess I thought wrong. Maybe we should just end things, too. Seein’ how nothin’ even fuckin’ changes—”

“Atsumu.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“You know it’s true, Omi-kun.” Atsumu reclines back, hands folded on his stomach. “All this datin’ stuff ends up bein’ for nothin’ in the end.” 

“Why would you doubt love is real when I’m right here?”

“Because I’m—” Atsumu stops abruptly. Sakusa’s heart stutters. He hadn’t even meant to say that. It slipped out. “Wait. What didja just say?”

Sakusa’s face warms, and he pulls at the loose string at the hem of Atsumu’s jeans. “You shouldn’t doubt that,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm and level to hide the way his butterflies betray him. “You have me to tell you otherwise.”

Atsumu is quiet for one second, two seconds, five seconds, then ten. Sakusa doesn’t have the courage to look at him. He twirls the loose thread around his index finger and tugs at it.

“Kiyoomi.”

“Yes?”

“Didja just insinuate that you love me?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Atsumu moves so suddenly that Sakusa jumps a bit, and he hisses when the string tightens on the skin of his fingers in a way that’s a little painful. Atsumu sits up from his reclined position, and he sticks his face close to Sakusa’s. “Yeah. I needja to spell it out for me, Omi-kun. Because that, just now—that sounded like a love confession.”

Sakusa tilts his head to the side. “Do you want it to be?”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Within a second, Atsumu has Sakusa planted on his back, head thudding against the armrest. Sakusa grunts, and Atsumu hovers over him, hand slipping under the curve of Sakusa’s skull that made impact with the couch. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Of course I want it to be. But I wantcha to say it. For real this time. Like how I toldja on the phone.”

“So you _do_ remember that.”

“‘Course I do. One of the most embarrassin’ moments of my life.”

“Why’d you pretend you didn’t?” Sakusa winds his arms around Atsumu’s shoulders and tugs him down. “You told me you didn’t remember calling me.”

“Because it was _embarrassin’_.”

“Well. You’re embarrassing.”

“Hey.”

“And I love you for it.”

Atsumu inhales a sharp breath. They’re ten centimeters away, and Atsumu’s breath fans over Sakusa’s face, smelling like cherries. He sticks his face closer, fingers clutching at the fabric of Sakusa’s shirt. “Say it again.”

Sakusa swallows.

“I love you,” Sakusa says quietly, and it’s such a simple statement, yet somehow it’s the most honest string of words he can possibly say. “I think you should know that.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Atsumu finally surges forward to kiss him, sloppy and fast, and Sakusa matches him this time. He’s learned how to. His mind used to draw a blank every time Atsumu’s tongue would come in contact with his, but now he responds like he was made to.

“I love you, too,” Atsumu says when they break apart. “I love you so much that it’s kinda disgustin’.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you love me. So who’s the bigger idiot here?”

Sakusa throws him a withering look, but it crumbles the moment Atsumu presses his forehead to Sakusa’s. He reaches down and tangles his fingers with Sakusa’s. “I’m an idiot, and I love you, and I love that you’re also an idiot. And I’m happy you love me.” 

“If you say it enough, it’ll start to get old,” Sakusa says.

“Nope. Never. I’ll never get tired of it, Omi-kun. I can promise you that much.”

It’s unfair, Sakusa decides, how Atsumu can shift his understanding of what he thinks he knows at the drop of a hat. He’s constantly reassessing what he thinks is true, whether it’s about love or relationships or volleyball.

Atsumu has that effect on him. He’s an unknown force, even after years of knowing him.

“I love you,” Sakusa repeats, and he curls the words around his tongue before curling his tongue into Atsumu’s mouth. He kisses him and loves him and thinks, you know, even if it starts to get old and he starts to get tired of it, there’s no way in hell he’ll ever be tired of Atsumu.

* * *

Sakusa wakes up the next morning to a new headline that drives Atsumu to call his brother.

**EJP Raijin’s Suna Rintarou announces engagement with renowned onigiri chain founder, Miya Osamu**

“I’ll tell you, but keep yer goddamn opinions to yourself,” Osamu says. “I don’t need any word from you. You hear me? You, too, Sakusa. I don’t need it.”

“You’re insane,” Sakusa says. He hadn’t expected Suna to actually follow through with it, let alone use the press to spread the fake news like wildfire.

Osamu explains the situation to Atsumu, beginning with Suna’s family pushing Suna to get married, to Suna and Osamu attempting a fake breakup, and now, to the announcement that Suna and Osamu are, apparently, engaged.

“We’re not really engaged,” Osamu explains. “It’s just to get Rin’s family off his back.”

Sakusa stares. He’s beginning to realize that there’s the entire possibility that Suna and Osamu are _actually_ engaged, but these two morons are lying to themselves about it while telling everyone else that none of it is real.

Atsumu turns to Sakusa with a bewildered look. It’s confirmed. Osamu really must be the dumber twin, if he and Suna are in this much denial about the state of their relationship.

“Thanks for your help,” Suna drawls. “Wouldn’t have thought of that solution without you.”

“You’re both morons,” Atsumu says, and Osamu and Suna and even Sakusa laugh at the irony. It goes unnoticed. “You’re fakin’ an engagement in order to get yer family to stop hecklin’ you?”

“Yeah,” Suna says.

“I don’t get it. Why do you gotta fake it? Just elope and tell everyone afterwards. You’re already practically actin’ like yer married, so a ring and a bit of paperwork should be eons easier.” Atsumu pauses. “Unless it’s real.”

“It’s fake.”

“Are you sure it is?”

“Yes, Tsumu.”

“How do I know you ain’t lyin’?”

“You’ll have to take us by our word.”

“As if I’d ever do that. Stop fakin’ it! I know you’re engaged!”

“Atsumu.” Sakusa places a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder. He’s had enough of this and it’s early in the morning, and he would really like to begin the day with a cup of coffee, some home-cooked breakfast, and pressing his body into Atsumu’s. “Let them figure it out.”

“They’d better fucking figure it out,” Atsumu mumbles. He snaps a quick goodbye before shutting off the phone, effectively cutting off Osamu and Suna from whatever they might have wanted to say next. “Can you believe them? They’re obviously lyin’ to themselves.”

“Funny that you notice that now.”

“Shut up.”

Sakusa laughs, and Atsumu’s expression softens. He reaches under the blanket and rests his hand on Sakusa’s knee, palm warm as he squeezes gently. Sakusa pulls at Atsumu and nestles him into the curve of his body. “Atsumu.”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to think about it too much.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

“Shut up. You’re the stupid one that loves how stupid I am.”

Sakusa jabs Atsumu in the stomach with his knuckles, and Atsumu squeals. “I guess I _am_ the stupid one. Because I love you.” Sakusa snorts. “Ew.”

Atsumu gently guides Sakusa’s face towards him. “I love you more than you even know.”

It’s cheesy and stupid and silly and technically not possible, but Sakusa decides not to be too nitpicky. This is his first time expressing and accepting love so thick he thinks he might never surface again, and although he isn't sure if he’s getting it right, Atsumu gives him a reassuring smile as he presses his lips to the corner of Sakusa’s mouth. Sakusa has got a long way to go and a whole hell of a lot to learn about love, but he has a gut feeling that he and Atsumu are on the right track—even if it takes some stumbling before getting there.

**Author's Note:**

> [ bonus ]
>
>> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
>> 
>> Congrats on your “fake” engagement
>> 
>> Hope your parents leave you alone
>> 
>> **Suna Rintarou**
>> 
>> Haha…
>> 
>> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
>> 
>> What?
>> 
>> **Suna Rintarou**
>> 
>> Thanks for your help
>> 
>> And yeah they’ve stopped asking about marrying Osamu
>> 
>> But
>> 
>> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
>> 
>> ?
>> 
>> **Suna Rintarou**
>> 
>> Okay well
>> 
>> You wouldn’t happen to know any kids I can borrow for a day, do you?
> 
> * * *


End file.
